


you won't remember.

by razussy



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: F/F, Other, Sam is mentioned, Short Story, but also goes OFF, doug tries to help, lottie b like Drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23904448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/razussy/pseuds/razussy
Summary: doug chooses a bad time to confess to charlotte after holding back for an odd number of years.
Relationships: Charlotte/Doug (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals)
Kudos: 3





	you won't remember.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my quarantine and i get to pick the comfort ship !! anyway the world needs more content of these two, and char deserves much better than sam (hot take, she deserves better than ted, too)

three in the morning. in about two hours, doug would have been waking up to start their new week of work. put on their uniform, eat a small breakfast, maybe walk their german shepherd before heading off for the day. instead, however, they were sitting on a couch at their friend's house, in their pajamas, ignoring the soft steps of two cats wandering around the living room as their mother, charlotte, sat with doug; taking a final sip of her wine in her glass that was left before setting it down near an empty bottle. how'd this happen? well, long story short, doug woke up to the loud ringing of their phone, and as soon as they heard a sniffling and slurring charlotte, they rushed out of their house to see what had happened.  
of course, nothing did happen, it was exactly the lack of ANYTHING happening - as in sam hadn't came home from a surprise call-in earlier that afternoon. at around two in the morning, charlotte tried her best to explain through heavy tears she was worried for him and, even though this is a regular for him, is upset with herself she doesn't know any other way to get into contact with him. he hasn't responded to her calls, texts, and emails; she felt annoying, yes, but she just wanted to make sure he wasn't hurt.

doug is used to this by now. way back when the beginning of the relationship was in the midst of falling apart from constant arguments, they were one of the few people she'd call or physically come to and need a few hours to get herself back into shape. they didn't mind it, no, they wanted to be by her side and support her the best they can; though it was hard when they aren't sure how to give proper reassurance or advice. for example, tonight, she is upset about sam not coming home, and there have been times in the past sam was caught cheating. now what is doug supposed to say? how are they supposed to help? they really can't, other than sit there while she cries on their shoulder, maybe attempt to get her to stop drinking herself to death. it was a mess.  
they watched charlotte lean up against the couch cushions, staring up at the low-hanging ceiling in an attempt to keep in the excessive tears. she looked hopeless. they admit, it always hurts to see her like this, then the next day act as if nothing had went down and she was peachy-keen.

"you know, doug," she started. "you know... i'm aware i really shouldn't love sam, but i can't help it. he makes me angry, i make him angry, we move on. he cheats on me with a few-" many. "-women, i occasionally sleep with ted, half the time not even going to him for sex at first. then we... don't acknowledge it, and keep on living. i want that to change, doug, i do. i believe i'm putting all my efforts into this relationship, though it's like- it's like he isn't. or i'm just not trying hard enough, or i'm just selfish!" charlotte exhaled a long sigh after speaking, misery in her expression. "love sucks and i never felt so exhausted," she said finally. oh boy, that was a lot. in instances like these, the cop tries to be neutral, or at least give them both the benefit of the doubt; however, it's hard to do such a thing when they constantly work with the same man that causes charlotte to get into these spiraling nights in the first place. they have to sit through him mentioning the girls he's with, them getting younger and younger by the minute, and the repetition of him bashing charlotte as if she's the worst thing to ever happen to him. doug can hardly remember the times sam felt proud of having a wonderful partner like her.

"he's a tough one, you know that. he thinks he needs to always be right, even if he's wrong, and him not contributing to this is his right, then maybe don't fight it too much anymore. he... he did love you once those decades ago, charlotte, but that feeling doesn't always last for some people. you love him, but why do you love him?" they were tired, too, and them questioning the drunk woman showed it well.  
"it's because we're married, we need to be some sort of love there! i have to prove i love him." she looked at them.  
"proving is much different than subconsciously showing," replied doug, as they took a hold of her hand. "marriages, in some cases, don't work out after a while. they lose the spark of joy that was once there in the beginning. something hurt that happiness, and caused for the two of you to drift... right?"  
they were right. about five years into sam and charlotte's marriage, charlotte found out she was two months pregnant, absolutely delighted to be blessed with a child despite the baby not being planned; sam was indifferent, his excitement growing as time went on. sadly, she lost the child due to an accident, and that's where the distancing and grieving came into play.

charlotte kept her gaze on doug, eyes still wet now that she was thinking about the child stolen from her.  
"you two don't wear your rings anymore, why would you think you two being married it still a valid thing to put time, energy, and money in?"  
"i don't know, doug, i just- i just want things to be how they were!" she sobbed, leaning against the cop and crying into their shirt. doug closed their eyes and sighed. "it's about time to move on, though, charlotte. for the past thirteen years, this is how this relationship has turned you into way too often. you've used alcohol and cigarettes as bad ways to cope with how upset you are, you've became more vulnerable to smaller things that used to not effect you, you've lost a chunk of gleefulness for many aspects in life-" doug ran a hand up her back- "all from miscommunication. you two never talked about the miscarriage fully, haven't you? and to add onto it, sam just became more aggressive. more angry at life. his viewpoints changed, he shifted to a cold nature. he- he fucking leaves you for days on end in the dark about where he is, what he is doing, when he is coming home. and you just deal with it? no questions asked, you let him continue to do this and feel as though you, out of both of you, are the one to fix this... loveless marriage?"  
they never got upset. well, yes, they do, but have they expressed this before? have they ever broken down their professional, calm exterior because the interior was boiling up with emotions they couldn't handle?  
"fuck sam. fuck sam, fuck his whole character. he doesn't talk right about you, he doesn't think right about you; he doesn't give you a chance to prove yourself, he doesn't himself a chance to prove himself; he doesn't even look at you right! sam will look at you or hear you, and immediately all he sees is irritation colored in sickening, forest greens and shocking, neon blues. he can't take the time to dial back and fucking see you aren't someone to make enemies with, see he is wrong for labeling you all these nasty things that don't describe you at all. he can't look at you and notice the way you light up when asked how you're doing or what your plans are for the night. the way you clasp you hands together out of excitement to finally chat about your cats and the funniest thing they did over the weekend. he'll never notice your turquoise eyes flicker with pride when you're told your cooking or baking that day was full of flavor. there's not a chance that sam would ever get to appreciate the warmness of your touch and that safe feeling whenever he wraps his arms around you for a hug, or a simple gesture like a touch on the shoulder. he doesn't have that fucking mentality that there are just as many beautiful traits to you as faults; how you can look at something as minor as a flower springing up from the crack in the pavement and talk about how wonderful it was to see it there growing in an odd spot for ten minutes, how you can laugh at the jokes your friends made with or without knowing the true meaning of them, how you can just comfortably run your fingers against a coffee mug with your zoned-out gaze focused on a background object and that's what makes someone's heart skip a beat. it makes a person want to learn more about the rest of the little details that come with your personality and backstory. it makes them feel overwhelmed when they notice you're smiling at them and wanting to include them into the conversation, against all odds they have anything potential to add. it fucking makes me feel like i'm a human to have had an opportunity to be close to you and grow alongside you for fifteen years, being able to soak in your way of speech and changed mannerisms and how unbothered you are to how you dress in soft animal sweaters and loose, floral skirts year round. the tender feelings that ball up in my chest when you avoid the compliments i give you and return them to me, telling me to focus on everything i did and still do and validate my existence. from the soft, gentle shell to the deep, cracked core, i can only describe the colors i see when i think of you as those of the sky when the sun rises in the wakening mornings, and when the sun sets in the slumbering evenings. all i can do is sit and admire the sky and clouds, not daring to watch for too long or reach my hand in the sky in hopes i get to one day join the clouds. i won't do that, i can't do that. i can't."

four thirty in the morning. light snoring. doug looked down at charlotte, seeing she had fallen asleep at some point through their monologue. how embarrassing, they opened a jar in their heart they weren't to ever recognize as long as they lived and spilled it onto a drunk charlotte as if it was a bedtime story. not that it worried them too much, it isn't like she'd wake up later and remember exactly everything that went down; that was the only positive to alcohol, really.  
they lifted her up in their arms and strolled to where her bedroom is, only being in there a few times to sit and chat for brief minutes, and tucked her under the covers of the large bed. they made sure to leave water and an advil bottle on her nightstand before turning off the bedroom light. their last task was tossing out the wine bottle and carefully cleaning and storing the wine glass away back in the cabinet.  
nearly out the front door, doug turned back to look around the living room, noticing two of the four cats were watching them. they gave them a little smile. "you guys heard me, didn't you? don't worry, she won't think about this night for more than a minute later." they left, making sure to lock the front door and hide the second key back in the spot charlotte usually puts it in.

just as doug suspected, charlotte did not remember all the details during the dead of the night "hangout"; more confused on how she got to her bed when she last recalled slouching against her friend and muffled her sobbing as they went on about... something. her head was in too much pain to give a shot at processing the night, and instead took a pill, chugged her water, and got up to get ready for work.  
maybe one day she'll be able to consider the better paths in life, and maybe so will doug.

**Author's Note:**

> honestly? part of this might be self projection but let's not look too deep into it aight also i didn't draft this so excuse any grammatical or spelling errors <33


End file.
